Six guys dressed in skimpy skirts and too-tight dresses with balloon breasts paraded across the stage. Dolled up with make-up and fake wigs, they flaunted everything they didn’t have. Hmm, sounds like the annual Athens’ Boybutante Ball drag show. Nope, think again.

My first two years of college, I always gave my friends with significant others a hard time. Not because I didn’t like their bf or gf. Just because I inevitably thought they spent too much time with that person. Whenever I wanted to watch the Braves game or go out to dinner, my friend would already have plans with that lover boy or girl.

Then out of nowhere it happened–I got a serious boyfriend. And one who attended a different college nonetheless. And that college happened to be in a different state.

Nearly every weekend I was visiting my boyfriend at his school or taking a trip with him to the mountains, beach or my family’s farm. I justified us not spending time in Athens with my sorority’s rule that no boys can spend the night in the house, which I lived in at the time. Although my friends would volunteer their couches for us to crash on, we disregarded those offers much of the time. (I mean how many times do you want the pullout that caves in at the middle?)

My friends began to feel unloved just as I had in previous years. Yep, I became that person who couldn’t equally split time between friends and the boyfriend. I denied the fact for practically a year. Then I had to admit my fault when I couldn’t recall the last time I had seen one of my supposed best guy friends (who lived less than a mile away!).

So my boyfriend and I started pulling out the calendar to plan weekends....

One of my favorite parts of the weekend is the morning-after comparison of stories. You’re either still in bed or devouring some Waffle House smothered-covered-capped hash browns when the phone rings. It’s the report of wacky occurrences from the night before–either who fell off the bar stool or what ridiculous route the taxi driver took for a simple ride.

Well my story absolutely took the cake this weekend. Although it runs a close race with my friend who almost choked to death on a piece of steak–but wait, that was terrifying, not funny in the least.

My friend and I are sitting on my couch eating some dinner and watching the Final Four when the chaos begins. “POW!” sounds loudly from outside my front window, facing the street. Immediately I think a drive-by shooting just occurred as I look out the window to see the culprit. Then out of nowhere an Explorer comes shooting across the sidewalk, through my communal front lawn at 40 + MPH and slams to a stop upon hitting a tree.

“Oh my gosh!” I scream while jumping to open the door. My friend calls 911 as I yell to the driver, attempting to see if he’s okay. The car’s smoking out-of-control, so I keep a safe distance in preparation for the explosion. The man doesn’t respond and the airbags having deployed has me worried. Scared of seeing a dead body, my friend tosses me the phone to answer the 911 responder’s...

Seven people piled in a Suburban with suitcases, tailgating supplies and one highly fought over neck pillow makes for a cozy (read: rather cramped) ride. But that was only for 2.5 hours, the shortage of personal space would last for the coming 36 hours. Yes, a football road trip maximizing fun with minimal costs. Which means an eventful hotel stay (of course in one room) with friends Richard, William, Allison, Mandy, John and Cole (our seventh wheel).

The lovely smell of cigarette smoke greeted us in our Travelodge room while one of throw-up (from the fans who arrived earlier that day) consumed the outdoor walkway. Needless to say, the Travelodge certainly isn’t competing for more AAA stars.

Granted, the majority of our time wasn’t spent in the room, but some of the weekend’s most memorable events happened right there. Everything from showering to my morning wake-up had a new twist.

Returning from downtown on Friday night, we stopped at Chevron’s Quick Stop across from our luxury accommodations. We ran through there like a bunch of bandits (who’d never seen food before) on a raid. Yeah, six Slim Jims, many liters of water, pre-made sandwiches and bags upon bags of chips should suppress our hunger. Oh, I almost forgot John’s trophy snack: a microwavable cheeseburger. William took one bite of John’s ...

I awoke dripping with sweat and yet having the chills intermittently.  My head throbbed as if millions of tiny people were smashing sledgehammers against it.  Meanwhile my stomach completed full somersaults worthy of a gymnastics competition.  The worse hangover of my college experience?  Nope, I went to bed early the previous night sans alcohol.

Thus I rolled out of bed and attempted to tackle the day’s tasks despite feeling like an early flu season victim.  Not having a doctor who knows all my medical history makes me weary of going to the Health Center and having Dr. Random Joe poke and prod my body.  I miss visiting my pediatrician (yes, I’m too old to technically see him, but I still love the Charlie Brown and Lion King examination rooms…not to mention free candy and stickers just for stopping in) who knows everything from the time I busted my chin open on my grandma’s table to my insect sting allergy.  Honestly, who wants to spew out medical history when they’re literally about to spew.

But after nearly fainting in my photojournalism class, the Health Center was calling my name.  Two check-in counters and thirty minutes later, the nurse took me into the Acute Care Clinic.  Surprisingly enough, she didn’t want to prick my finger (as...

Being managing editor of ugazine, UGA’s student-produced magazine, ranks in the top of my extracurricular activities. But this past week, my duties there have consumed any moment outside of classes and interning. Between assigning stories, attending meetings and going to the printer, I’ve met myself coming and going.

Granted, with leadership comes responsibility; nonetheless I have to remind myself (or maybe my mom and boyfriend do more of the reminding) to chill out once in a while. So last night I postponed catch-up sociology reading in exchange for watching the Saints/Colts game with my guy friends. I’m not an NFL fan, but the downtime served as a stress reducer. There’s a lot to be said for dedicated individuals, but you can burn yourself out, too. Reward yourself for the hard work completed. (By the way…I’m printing out this blog immediately when it’s finished and laminating it to put on my desk. This all applies to me as much as anyone else.) I think it’s easy to get caught up in involvements and then have more on your plate than you can swallow. Taking small bites is better for the digestive system anyway.

“Eleanor, you’re the perfect candidate. Just fill it out, and I’ll turn it in to the deciding committee,” said a member of my sorority’s executive board, as she handed me an application for Greek Woman of the Month. Right, and how exactly am I the “perfect candidate?”

I didn’t even read the application for days because I dreaded seeing lines upon lines of information to fill out about myself. A job application without the possibly life-changing outcome. Or would it be just that? Nah, but as I read the application, my intrigue grew simultaneously with my puzzlement. After wading through the usual name and identifying criteria, the discussion question stumped me: Explain what the Greek community means to you. You can express this in a variety of ways. And then the form proceeded to give examples such as essays, pictures, journals…

I’ve been a Greek since that hot-as-the-Sahara day when I donned a white dress, attempting to ignore the hollering boys driving by in pick-up trucks as I entered the front lawn of my sorority. (I still remember seeing truck after truck with couches piled in the bed topped with shaggy-haired boys throwing back beers meanwhile checking out the fresh meat.) In my four years with such affiliation, I never took the time to sit down and compile my thoughts about life as part of the Greek system. Calling an acquaintance, who I remembered applied...

Having your parents come visit for a weekend may not sound like the best idea.  For numerous reasons that’s true…they see the fridge understocked, the yard in disarray and the tables covered in dust. Well that is if it weren’t for my friends Home Depot, Publix and Endust. The amazing, parent-friendly results: A quick planting of mums in pots at my front door. Loads of healthy goodies from fresh fruit to hummus. And the grim-free tables shinning throughout my house.

So I got my place presentable, but you still ask, “What’s good about having the rents in town?”

I say, “What’s NOT good about having them?” Granted, I’m a big family person. I’m the one at Christmastime who makes everyone decorate the Fraser fir together. Thus understandably, I love having some family company.

Yet, even for the lesser family-obsessed students, you can always bank on the rents for something during their trip. When my mom and pop come to Athens, I count on them for the delicious food and wardrobe additions.

Thankfully they both love to eat as much as I do, so we pick out the best restaurants for meals. Not to mention the dining choices are entirely out of my budget. Think grilled shrimp wrapped in bacon and steak filets. Plus my dad’s gigantic sweet tooth ensures an...